


The Attempted Felling of One A. Z. Fell, Principality

by inkandpencil



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: But Mostly Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mention of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:27:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27221200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkandpencil/pseuds/inkandpencil
Summary: The moment Crowley is taken, Aziraphale knows. Knows that Crowley is no longer on Earth, knows who has taken him, and knows that he is going to be the one to rescue his beloved friend. A rage he has rarely felt in the 6000 years he's lived on Earth or in the uncountable years prior to Eden flares fiercely inside him. He does not need a flaming blade in order to do what he needs to do. He barely needs a plan.And he has no room for hesitation.------Many thanks to Willdoodleforcoffee for their awesome beta, encouragement, and enthusiasm!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 61





	The Attempted Felling of One A. Z. Fell, Principality

The moment Crowley is taken, Aziraphale knows. Knows that Crowley is no longer on Earth, knows who has taken him, and knows that he is going to be the one to rescue his beloved friend. A rage he has rarely felt in the 6000 years he's lived on Earth or in the uncountable years prior to Eden flares fiercely inside him. He does not need a flaming blade in order to do what he needs to do. He barely needs a plan.

And he has no room for hesitation.

With one sharp snap of his fingers, he's outside the very doors he had never expected to have to walk through again, doing that very thing. Previously, he would take the escalators up, to Heaven. But not this time.

Lips a thin line of determination, he veers left and takes the escalator down, into Hell.

The first demon he encounters attempts to block his path, but with one slow look from him, the demon has the wisdom to back down.

The second demon he encounters is thrown against the wall with a mere gesture.

The next group barely has time to form together before the angel is sweeping them aside.

He follows his connection to Crowley, turning this way and that down a winding array of corridors. Until he turns a corner and finds himself facing Dagon. He remembers her from the farce of a Trial and feels his lip twitch in anger.

"You go no further, Principality," she sneers. He does not respond, only looks at her flatly. "Turn around and go back. We're dealing with the traitor on our own terms." He has no intention of doing any of that, nor does he intend to allow Crowley to be 'dealt with'. He moves more swiftly than the demon anticipates, pressing her against the wall with his hand around her throat, her feet dangling a few inches above the floor as she grapples uselessly against his arm.

"Tell me where he is," he growls, "or I will Smite you here and now." Her eyes are wide with terror, but she gasps out directions, pointing with one hand while the other holds onto his wrist. "Thank you for your cooperation," he states flatly once she's done. He reaches up with his other hand and taps her in the middle of her forehead. "Now sleep."

Dagon's directions are not false in any way. Aziraphale walks into the room through the open door, expecting and prepared for a trap (he _is_ in Hell, after all; this would have been a wasted opportunity if there wasn't a trap), and is not disappointed. The door slams shut behind him, but he doesn't flinch. Instead, her merely takes in the room and it's occupants. Crowley is tied to a chair on the far side of the room, beaten and bloody. His clothing is in tatters, but whether that is from the torture implements on the table against the far wall or from his fight when they came for him, it's difficult to say. Standing on either side of him, though, is Hastur and Beelzebub. Both demons look far too smug.

"The Principality," Hastur welcomes with a menacing grin. Crowley's head lolls a bit against his chest before he's able to pull together enough strength to raise it. Aziraphale reads the word "No.." on his lips and it only solidifies his determination.

"Duke Hastur, Prince Beelzebub," Aziraphale greets, his tone icy and dangerous. "You have wrongly brought Crowley down into Hell. I have come to take him back." The two demons laugh. The angel merely blinks slowly, his usually expressive face completely expressionless. Crowley's golden eyes widen before flicking to the demons at either side of him.

"I don't think you appreciate the zzzzituation you are in," Beelzebub chortles. "If you want thizzz traitor, you are welcome to him." The prince holds up a finger before adding, "But…"

Ever-changing eyes narrow. He needs to know what the catch is. "But…?" he prompts with a primly raised eyebrow.

"But you muzzzt renounzzze Heaven and Fall," the Prince finishes, a look of malicious glee on their face.

"No," Crowley whispers. Aziraphale doesn't hesitate.

"I renounce Heaven," he states with a shrug. He'd already done so, truthfully, the moment he chose Crowley and Earth, so saying the words doesn't change a thing. Going a step beyond what the demons have asked, he reaches up and presses his hands against his chest, reaching into his very essence and _pulling_. Two handfuls of his Grace appear in his hands. He allows the sneer to curl his lips. "But I won't _FALL!_ " He flings each handful at the two demons, watching in satisfaction as each hit their mark. Hastur shrieks before falling silent, Beelzebub barely gets out a buzz. Neither demon remains as Aziraphale approaches Crowley, slightly surprised to see tear tracks on that beloved face.

"Oh, _Angel_ ," he says softly as the angel removes the ropes binding him to the chair with ease. "You shouldn't have done that! I never wanted you to _Fall_!" Aziraphale gathers the battered demon close, lifting him from the chair and carrying him to the door.

"And I won't," he whispers against the demon's temple, pressing a kiss there to the skin beneath his lips. "I'll explain when we're out of here," he adds, responding to the expression of distrust, disbelief, hope, and fear on Crowley's face. The redhead sighs softly, closes his eyes, nods, and wraps his arms a little more securely around the angel's shoulders.

They are not stopped on their way out of Hell.

In fact, every time they spot a demon, it makes a soft noise of fear and disappears. Crowley gives Aziraphale a contemplative look.

Aziraphale goes from stepping outside the building that houses the entrances to Heaven and Hell here in London to stepping up the steps to the bookshop, the door opening obligingly for him. Once they are safely inside, the door closes, locks, and all the blinds lower. The angel doesn't stop walking until he's reached the flat above the bookshop and has entered the bedroom. Carefully, he sits Crowley down on the edge of the bed. Neither speak as Aziraphale moves about, gathering various first-aid items, discarding his coat in the process. A bowl of water is set on the floor at Crowley's feet, the first-aid items on the bed, and both towel and washing cloth are beside the angel where he kneels on the floor, rolling his sleeves up.

The silence hangs over them as Aziraphale cleans and tends to Crowley's wounds, helping the demon to carefully remove his shirt - more rags than cloth at this point - as well as his shoes. The angel takes the opportunity to wash the redhead's feet, which causes the demon to shift uncomfortably.

"Angel," he finally says, softly. "What did you mean when you said you won't Fall? You denounced Heaven and threw away your Grace." And suddenly, the serious expression on the angel's face melts away into shyly proud mischief.

"I denounced Heaven a while ago, dear. When I chose Our Side. Giving voice to that, using _words_ for it, doesn't change the fact that it had already occurred." The angel could see the sudden comprehension crawl across the demon's beloved face. Then it's chased by confusion.

"Alright. But what about your Grace?"

"I didn't denounce the Almighty. I didn't pull at that love for Her."

"That…almost makes sense."

"I would only Fall, dear, if I denounced _Her_." He pauses for a thoughtful moment, thankful when Crowley gives him that. "Come to think of it, I may not even Fall then. There are many things I have said, done, or thought in the past 6000-plus years that should have caused me to Fall. But I never once did." As if to prove his point, he unfurls his wings. From the corner of his eyes, as well as from Crowley's wide-eyed expression, he knows they are still his usual white. "And I suppose I was so determined _not_ to Fall, so as not to hurt _you_ , that I think I wouldn't have done so even if I _had_ pulled out all of my Grace to hurl at them," he adds, giving Crowley a soft smile. He knows he's showing too much, giving away how enamored he is with the demon sitting on his bed, but he can't help himself. He almost _needs_ Crowley to see it.

" _Angel_ ," Crowley breathes, reaching out and gently running his fingertips down some of the feathers. Aziraphale shivers. It's a pleasant feeling, actually, and he adores it. But in the next moment, he finds himself with an armful of demon. Crowley is clutching at him, holding him close and _trembling_ in Aziraphale's embrace. Which he does, of course, embrace his demon. He holds Crowley so tightly, mindful of the injuries to his precious friend. 

"I'm here, love," he whispers into the redhead's ear, carefully curling his wings around them both. The demon slides off the bed and into the angel's lap, practically wrapping himself around the blond as the wings wrap around them both. It takes him a heartbeat to realize Crowley is crying into the shoulder of his shirt. He merely nuzzles his cheek against the redhead's hair, holding him more firmly against his chest. Aziraphale is so grateful - so _bloody grateful_ \- to be holding his demon, that he sends a small prayer of thanks up to Her. "I've got you," he murmurs softly, more for himself than for the demon in his arms. But Crowley hears him and nods against his shoulder.

After several moments, the redhead pulls away just far enough to look at him. The tears have stopped, but his gorgeous golden eyes are red-rimmed, his eyelashes clumping together enticingly. Aziraphale can't help the soft, loving smile that curls his lips. Without thinking, the angel reaches up and cups the demon's cheek so gently, thumb feather-light as it caresses over the tear tracks. "I love you," the angel breathes into the space between them, slightly amused at the widening of those glorious eyes.

Then Crowley laughs. It's short, soft, and sudden, but it's full of joy. The demon reaches up and rubs at the other side of his face with the back of his hand, trying to remove the evidence of his tears.

"Always imagined I'd be the first to admit that, if it ever happened," he says, voice rough. Aziraphale's smile widens. Then he presses forward just enough to brush his lips over Crowley's. The kiss is sweet and chaste; when the angel begins to pull away, the demon follows, reclaiming his lips in a second kiss. This one lasts longer, getting a little heated in the process. A series of kisses follows, until both are smiling against each other's lips. Aziraphale pulls away, gazing adoringly at the demon in his arms.

"I love you," he breathes, awed. "Oh, _how I love you!_ "

" _Angel_ ," the redhead whispers in response, looking as awed as Aziraphale feels. "I love you, too. For _so long_ , I've loved you."

"How long?" he asks, then shakes his head. "No, nevermind, I don't need to know. All that matters is that we're here, now." Reaching out, he gently threads his fingers through the demon's crimson locks, watching in amazement as Crowley's eyes close in bliss. "All that matters is how much I love you, though I'm not sure I know any words in any language that could quantify the amount." He pauses to press a kiss to those tempting lips. "No Earthly language." A kiss to his cheek. "No Demonic language." A kiss to his temple, fingers curling in soft red hair to better move him, earning a softly gasped sound. "No Angelic language." A gentle kiss to his earlobe. "The universe itself is too limited in size to convey how much I love you," the angel whispers into the ear he just kissed. Crowley shivers in his arms, pressing against him in pleasing ways and whimpering softly.

Gently pulling back to look at the well-beloved face, Aziraphale is distressed to see fresh tears. Reaching with both hands this time, he cups Crowley's face and gently wipes the tears away. "Tell me if this is too much, dearest," he whispers, concerned. Golden eyes open and the angel is astounded at the trust, the love, the _vulnerability_ in them. The demon shakes his head.

"Not too much," he barely manages. "I just… I can't feel Love the way you do, Angel. So to _hear_ you say those things. I feel…" he pauses, obviously searching for words. Words have always been something each of them have struggled with in different ways and for all of their long years of communicating, they have often had the toughest times sharing words with each other. "I feel full. My cup runneth over. I feel like my walls are down and I don't know how to put them back up. I feel like you could break me with a _look_ now, where it had only been words before."

"I will be your rock and support when you need it, my beloved," Aziraphale states with conviction, quailing at the damage he has historically done to his beloved friend. "I will be your shelter in the storm. I will bind myself to you and no other -"

"Not counting Her," the demon cuts in with a little smile and Aziraphale isn't even upset at the interruption.

" _No other_ , my love," he corrects gently, watching those beloved eyes widen at the implications of the angel's words. His wing feathers remain beautifully white where they surround the both of them. "I will strive to lift you up when you feel low, to show you at all times how beautiful and wonderful you are, to hold you when you need held, and to support you at all times. I will not stop, even with the heat-death of the universe."

"Vows," the demon breathes, trembling in the angel's arms. "You're saying vows." Aziraphale nods, wrapping his arms around Crowley and pulling him into an embrace.

"I am," he agrees. "I don't expect reciprocation, so please don't fret. But I needed you to understand the breadth and depth of my love for you. You are my North Star, Crowley. You have been for longer than I care to recall. I have steered my life by your light even when I didn't realize it and was too blind to see. Heaven only held sway when they were around or were a threat to _you_." He takes a deep breath. "I said so many terrible things to you or about you over the centuries. I can only hope to make up for such false words and will do everything in my power to do so."

"Aziraphale," the redhead says, voice rough as he pulls away just far enough to make eye contact. "You make life worth living. You remind me that I can be so much _more_ than the sum of my parts, that I'm _more_ than a mere snake, _more_ than just a demon. Even when you spoke the words, I knew you didn't actually mean them." He presses their foreheads together, gold eyes never straying from the angel's own. "I've known for years - decades, at least - that you didn't mean those things you said. That you've only ever tried to protect me, from both Heaven _and_ Hell. And, sometimes, from myself." He pulls away, then, sits as upright as he can in the angel's lap, but never once does his gaze waver.

"It is a paltry offering, but I would lay my heart at the altar of you, Aziraphale, Principality and Guardian of the Eastern Gate. I would make of myself a sacrifice, if you asked it."

"I wouldn't!" The kiss that silences the angel is swift but soft. There's a tender smile on the redhead's lips when he pulls away.

"I know," he whispers. "But I would do it. I will endeavor for your happiness, my beloved angel, to ensure you never feel the need to question yourself or your choices ever again, to keep you as safe as you have always done for me. I want to be the cause of your smiles, to be there to hold you when the world gets to be too much and your books won't do, to guard the cleverest and kindest being She ever created. _You_ , Aziraphale. You are what means more to me than this whole planet, than any star or nebula or solar system I ever created, than my own life. I will strive, my angel, to show you every day how much I love you. Even through the heat-death of the universe."

"Crowley," Aziraphale says, breathless. Moving almost as one, their lips meet gently. The kiss is sweeter for their confessions, for their vows. Black feathers mingle with white as the redhead allows his wings out. Neither notice right away that all of the injuries Hell inflicted upon the demon have been healed, but they both feel the added weight on their left ring fingers. Together, they allow the kiss to end, pulling back to look at the rings encircling such a significant digit.

Aziraphale's is black and rose gold, a golden-eyed snake wrapping gently around his finger, head resting so calmly over coils. Crowley's is a rose gold band, golden wings etched around it's outside, a silver sword with white gold flames taking center place, the blade pointed away from his hand. Both rings feel like protection. Both feel like blessings. Like approval. Like _gifts._


End file.
